


Sometimes

by unluckyxse7en



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, more ptsd that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unluckyxse7en/pseuds/unluckyxse7en
Summary: Sometimes it's fine. Sometimes it's not fine.Sometimes you're fine. Sometimes you're not.But what about Always?(note - lots of repetition of phrases and elements in the fic, for emphasis)





	Sometimes

Sometimes, it was fine.

Sometimes, I could look Dirk right in the eyes, through double layers of ironic badass shades. I could look him in the eyes, and give him an approving smile, maybe even a thumbs up. And he’d give me one in return.

But sometimes.

Sometimes, it wasn’t fine.

Sometimes, I’d look up from whatever I was doing, long enough to see a pointy tip of those anime glasses. And I’d freeze. My chest would tighten. And even after exchanging looks with him, knowing deep down it was Dirk and not…. Him… I would have to find some reason excuse myself, filled with shame, and guilt, and fear, and pain. Dirk would always nod solemnly, as if knowing what I was really thinking, and say he understood.

It never helped.

 

Some days, it was fine.

Some days, I could call everyone bro, even Dirk, and wouldn’t feel a thing. Just let the word slide off my tongue, naturally, like the everyday slang of affection it was meant to be. Some days I’d even make an ass out of myself trying to see how many times I could say it before I finally drove someone nuts.

Some days, it wasn’t fine.

Some days, I’d say it out of habit, and something would squeeze my heart, deep inside. I must’ve said it to Karkat during one of these days. That day, he threw it right back at me with one of his trademark retorts, and I must’ve looked like someone gave my puppy the sickest of ass beatings, because when he turned to look at me and question what meowbeast got my tongue his surly expression dropped. 

Sometimes, it was fine.

Sometimes I’d sleep through the night without waking from nightmares. Without waking up feeling more tired than I did the night before. Without staring up at the ceiling for five hours before finally drifting off to sleep. I’d even wake up feeling alive, feeling something akin to refreshed. Those days were always the best days.

Sometimes, it wasn’t fine.

Sometimes I’d wake in the dead of the night with a start, with a gasp, with some sort of strangled noise escaping my throat as I jolted up, covered in sweat and heart beating fast. Sometimes I’d sit there in the dark, feeling so disoriented and confused and alone, unsure of where I was and whether I was still dreaming or not. Feeling ready to cry, if I wasn’t already. Sometimes scars and injuries long gone would ache. Those nights were the worst nights.

 

Some days, it was fine.

Some days, I’d cross swords with Dirk to spar. A nice, fulfilling way to bond, where he’d go all out and I’d go all out, but we’d be on equal footing. And neither of us would cross a line during these fights. When it was over, it was over, and neither one of us would try to continue on if the other couldn’t keep going. We’d pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, tend to any scrapes, clean everything up. Ready to go grab a bite to eat or something. 

Some days, it wasn’t fine.  
Some days, the mere clink of metal rings too harshly in my ears, that sharp, discordant sound echoing through my head. A pain as simple and sudden as a paper cut leaves me shaken up. a drop of red causes my breathing to stop, for just a moment. A fork tapping against a plate, and I flinch. The scraping of a cooking knife being sharpened, and my body tenses, ready, waiting. 

 

Sometimes, it was fine.

 

 

Except it wasn’t fine.  
It wasn’t fine even when I could look at Dirk and not think of Him, even when I could call him bro, even when I could sleep through the night for once. It wasn’t fine even I could wield my blade without a thought, even when I could look at anything even remotely red and not feel my pulse quicken. 

I wasn’t fine.

I wasn’t fine, just because it seemed like I was for a little bit. Just because I could pretend He hadn’t existed. Just because I could pretend I was a functional human being. Underneath it all,

I wasn’t fine. 

And sometimes, that wasn’t okay. 

Sometimes I’d say or do something, or someone else would say or do something, and it’d become clear how much I wasn’t okay. I’d snap at someone who didn’t deserve it, or lose my temper over something that wasn’t worth it, or break down and cry over seemingly nothing at all. Sometimes I’d hurt my friends, sometimes I’d anger them. Sometimes they’d get mad at me. Sometimes they’d yell at me. Sometimes I’d make them cry. 

But sometimes, it was okay.

Sometimes, my friends would forgive the things I’d say in the moment. Sometimes, they’d console me, holding me tight when I needed it most. Sometimes, they’d go out of their way to make me feel better- to take the kitchen cutlery elsewhere, or to clean off the spilt ketchup on their shirts. Sometimes Dirk would take the time to step off to the side with me and talk to me, tell me it was ok, tell me how he also couldn’t always see past his own image of his Bro. Tell me how he knew my pain wouldn’t go away overnight, and that he knew it was healing even if it didn’t seem like it.

Sometimes, it was okay.

And always.  
Always.

Always, my friends loved me.  
Always, my friends were there for me.  
Always, my friends cared for me.

Always.

And that’s good enough for me.


End file.
